Just Us Now
by NotMarge
Summary: They hooked up once in Mike Kripe's basement. Sort of. Ten years later, John Conner and Kate Brewster are in a completely different kind of basement. Post Rise of the Machines, Crystal Peak. Previously titled 'In the Basement'. T for frequent language throughout and mature situations in chapter 12.
1. Just Us Now

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

In The Basement

* * *

Kissed him.

She had kissed him.

They had been laying there, talking.

Her soft murmur lulling him into a sleep he sorely needed.

And then she had kissed him.

Not a lot.

Just a little.

Just enough to . . .

_Heyyy –_

. . . catch his attention.

Start to wake him back up.

And he had wanted to kiss her back.

But . . .

"I'm not Scott, Kate," he had reminded her, honestly, flatly.

. . . he had to say something first.

He didn't say it hateful or angry or mean.

He had been feeling . . . stuff for her for a while.

And even though the Terminator had said she was going to be his wife . . .

_You're kidding, man. Her? She's so . . . stuck up._

_Oh and she hates my guts._

_Oh and she's ENGAGED._

_Was engaged._

_Not to me._

_He's dead now._

. . . he couldn't quite imagine her actually liking him.

_Liking_ liking him.

She was just lonely, they both were.

And everything had been, well, a lot.

And she was just . . . antsy or something.

And whatever he was, or they were, or the world had become, he wasn't fucking around and playing _that_game with her.

The 'I'm second pick, the only guy trapped in this fallout shelter, hey, let's bang until somebody better comes along' game.

_Or we die._

So he said it because it would be worse later to have to say it then.

"I'm not Scott."

A wistful smile passed across her face, right through her eyes, turned up her lips.

And floated away as she gazed at him openly, sincerely.

"I know you're not," she replied softly. "I'm not asking you to be."

He _thought_ she was telling the truth.

She _seemed_ to be telling the truth.

And so he decided to believe her, give her the benefit of the doubt.

"Okay."

Then she leaned over and kissed him again.

And he kissed her back.

Not a lot. Not yet.

Just enough to taste her mouth, the softness there.

Softness, in a world of metal.

A _human_ touch.

He pressed his lips to hers.

Feeling her breath, her warmth.

It was hesitant, not a wild, passionate free-for-all like in the movies.

In fact, it was really uncertain, really not sure about where they stood between each other and the whole, machine ruined world.

But that was okay.

It was something.

Instinctively, he gently lifted one hand up to her face, cupped the curve of her jaw.

Thumb brushing her cheekbone, tips of his fingers grazing her ear.

And she opened her mouth to his.

Just a little more.

* * *

It was a lot like their first kiss. In Mike Kripie's basement.

Well, no.

It wasn't like that at all.

He had been, like, thirteen, just a kid.

And she had been twelve . . .

"Hey, dare you to kiss John Conner."

"What? I don't even know him."

"So? You're not _marrying_ him. You're _kissing_ him."

"But he's . . . weird."

"He's cute. Just do it."

"I don't know."

And she still didn't.

But the world had ended and everyone she knew was dead.

And if he was a mess then she was a mess now too.

And he was a good guy.

Much less psychopathic than he had any right to be, considering the way he'd grown up.

_I can't even imagine._

But then again, she couldn't imagine her life would be like this now.

Nuclear war initiated by machines meant to destroy the humans who had created the machines for their own protection against other humans.

It gave her a headache.

It also gave her listlessness, depression, apathy, and ecumenic confusion.

Right before the desperate call for help echoed within the President's fallout bunker, she had actually suggested, out loud, letting John's homemade bomb go off and letting them both die.

Which he hadn't done.

And now, barely two months later, here they were.

He was kissing her and she had started it.

And he wasn't Scott and she had told him that was alright.

Because Scott and almost everyone else on planet earth was dead.

Her engagement ring was gone.

Taken off while moving supplies.

Caught on metal, torn open skin, maybe even degloved finger if everything went wrong all at the same time.

Then, infection, disease.

Debriedment, amputation.

She had seen it before.

Well, maybe not _exactly_ the same.

But . . .

_It's just not worth the risk._

And she had just never put it back . . .

"Where's your engagement ring?"

"Oh, I took it off."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

. . . on.

She had more important things on her mind at this point anyway.

_Seventy-five rations of beef stew, fifty-five rations of spaghetti . . ._

And now there was a blank spot on her right ring finger where her ring should be.

She subconsciously rubbed the empty space from time to time.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You're rubbing your finger. Are you hurt?"

"Oh. No. It's fine."

But she had been watching John Conner for weeks.

And he really was a good guy.

He kept his distance from her in the early days, letting her sleep in whatever bedroom of the several available.

Only bothering her when he absolutely, positively . . .

"Kate? Could you stand at the mic for a few minutes?"

"Yes, why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I . . . I have to pee."

"Oh. Yeah. Sure."

. . . needed a break from listening to the radio and answering desperate, dying humans crying out for guidance, help, or just another human voice amid the empty wasteland of the earth and attacking machines.

She had watched him sleep at the command center, head on his arms.

She had watched him forgo food and drink and his own basic needs just to keep others going.

She had eventually gone to him, insisted he take breaks, sat at the control center, ready to alert him if someone called out for help in the blood-soaked battle-zone the entire world had become.

She had made him eat, made him sleep.

Made him shower and shave and brush his teeth and whatever else she had to tell him to do whenever he got too tired to see straight.

And then she had watched him not be able to sleep.

Watched him jerk and groan.

Watched him talk in his sleep and call out for the dead.

And curse the functioning, ruthless machines that stalked them.

She woke him up from those dreams, nearly been punched in the face by him jerking up out of them.

Brushed off his garbled apologies.

And watched from a safer distance the next time they were so bad.

She'd been awakened by him calling her name in the midst of her own terrifying nightmares.

Screamed his name over and over within them because he was all she had left anymore and if he went away, she'd be alone and surely die.

Eventually, they'd slept together.

Slept.

Side by side, back to back.

Because if one of them woke up afraid and the other was still peacefully asleep and breathing easy, they must be safe.

In the fallout bunker deep below the surface of the ravaged earth.

And if one of them awoke and the other was fighting in their sleep, they could at least give the other a sense of safety when they finally, finally, finally awoke.

"John. John. It's okay."

"Kate. Kate. It's just a dream. Wake up."

And sometimes, just sometimes, they were both awake.

Listening to the other breathe in.

Listening to the other breathe out.

Listening to the other live.

And sometimes, they talked.

Their communal mattress they had dragged in from one of the bedrooms.

"I can't leave them alone out there."

"I know. I agree."

The dim light they always kept on, even when one or both of them were sleeping.

So when and if a voice came calling over the radio, there would be no stumbling.

There would be no flailing.

There would be immediate response, a callback in the darkness.

_You are not alone. Hope is not lost._

Pencil and paper lay at hand next to the speaker.

Coordinates, directions.

Lists. Flow charts.

Who was where and how many there were.

Hopes.

No zones.

Anything and everything.

Always at the ready.

And so they slept in dim light.

So the darkness would not prevail, not last forever.

Drop down upon humanity in everlasting extinction and death.

They slept.

* * *

**New fandom here. Writing-wise anyway. Been watching the movies since I was nine.**

**Don't know if anybody will be interested in this. But I've been writing for _days. _And it makes me happy. ;)  
**

**Everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.**


	2. Before and After

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

In The Basement

Before and After

* * *

Life before July 25.

6:00 am – Rise, curse alarm clock, face plant into coffee. Shower, blow-dry, make-up, dress, etc. Nibble apple toast with avocado.

7:00 am – Arrive at work. Clean pee, poop, and other bodily fluids from various healing animals. Change dressings. Feed. Try not to get bitten. Imbibe coffee whenever possible.

8:00 am – Open clinic for sick and not quite sick animals. Encourage/educate/reprimand owners based on situation. Try not to get bitten. Imbibe coffee whenever possible.

12:00 pm – Lunch, usually a sandwich or salad. Carbonated water.

12:30 pm – Continue triage of sick animals and their needy owners. Try not to get bitten. Imbibe coffee whenever possible.

5:00 pm – Close clinic. Shoo out owners who think a hairball is double pneumonia. Try not to get bitten.

5:30 pm – Arrive at gym. Work out for an hour. Realize that actually being bitten would trump going to the gym, become slightly grumpy.

7:30 pm – Meet Scott for dinner or eat dinner at home. Inevitably more salad. Chicken or fish?

9:30 pm– Home. Sex, tv, book, study, plan for wedding, something to pass the time until bed.

11:30 pm– Bed. Stare at the ceiling. Hope getting married is the right choice. Feel guilty. Eventually fall into unconsciousness.

There were a rotating set of assistants and Doctor Monroe, ("You mean you're not the _actual_ doctor?" "Well, yes, I'll be fully graduated this December." "Well, then I'd like to see the _real_ doctor, please." _Of course you would_.) and, of course, the aforementioned animal owners.

There were people at the gym (_yes, your gym muscles are asheen, please move along_) and people at the restaurants (_please stop staring at me, I'm dieting for the wedding_), and people on the road (_honestly, it's a blinker, it's on the left!_).

There were people everywhere.

_Well, not Dad. That would be silly, wouldn't it?_

And lately, it had seemed, Scott everywhere.

"Hey, do you want to catch a movie?"

"What do you think about a d.j. for the reception?"

"Nothing's as beautiful as you, Kate."

And she had loved him, she really had.

And she was devastated that he was gone.

Along with the other three billion people Skynet had wiped from existence.

But sometimes she was in such a shellshock with her new life . . .

_I hate that Presidential stand. It just stares at me because I'm not a President._

_Do we even have a president anymore?_

. . . that she couldn't seem to process it.

Because as full as life had been before . . .

"Yes, I can do a cake testing but I have to go the bridal shop on Thursday so . . ."

. . . it was as equally empty now.

* * *

Because in life after July 25, there _was_ no schedule. There was no time.

There was no wedding, there was no job.

There was no gym or restaurant or college graduation.

Or avocado or toast or salad or tv or sex or carbonation or anything.

There was coffee, however.

"What is that?"

"Instant coffee, I think."

Sort of.

"How many packets do we have back there?"

"About a million, I think. Drink it up."

They slept when they were dead on their feet.

They ate when they got so hungry they were sick.

There was nothing in the whole wide world of her life anymore but a vast, well-stocked fallout shelter.

"John. Found the weapons cache. No paintball guns anywhere. Sorry."

An aging communications system.

"Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?"

And John Conner.

"This is John Conner."

* * *

John Conner who had once gone to West Hills Junior High and been the cool bad, mysterious boy in a school full of preps.

"Did you hear he's in foster care or something?"

"Yeah. Did you hear he knows how to hack credit cards?"

"Shut up."

John Conner who had kissed her in Mike Kripkie's basement.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What's your name?"

"Kate."

"Kate. Cool."

_Oh my goossshhhhhh-_

John Conner who had disappeared and never been heard from again.

The same day the news had plastered blood and guts and destruction all over . . .

"Oh my gosh, did you hear about John Conner's foster parents?! They were murdered!"

"Shut _up_!"

. . . the tv and radio and newspapers.

John Conner, ten years later, out of the blue, appearing in her clinic.

All banged up and bloody and . . .

_God, Conner. You look like shit._

. . . just an absolute mess.

John Conner, who, with some big leathered guy . . .

_Oh god, I've never seen people like _you_ at my gym-_

. . . kidnapped her and dragged her along on the wildest, most unbelievable . . .

"Katherine Brewster, have you sustained injury?"

"Drop dead, you asshole!"

"I am unable to comply."

_What?!_

. . . thirteen hours of her life.

And at the end of that thirteen hours . . .

_Six-eighteen. I'm supposed to be starting my cool-down routine right now._

. . . they were here.

Trapped in this bunker.

Trapped _safely_ in this bunker.

Food and supplies for years and years.

Relative comfort.

While everyone left out there either died . . .

"What's the half-life of nuclear fallout?"

"Thirty years, I think?"

"God."

"Yeah. But I don't think He wants credit for this one."

. . . faced nuclear fallout.

So here they were.

Safe as houses.

* * *

And she was going crazy.

She _hated_ the concrete walls.

She couldn't get away from them.

She couldn't see the sky.

Couldn't see the trees.

Couldn't smell the cut grass or the night breeze or anything.

Ever.

She hated those concrete walls and the military food rations.

Everything was driving her crazy.

She had heard of cabin fever, sure.

Had experienced it mildly in the winter.

Or when she was sick.

But, god, she couldn't even _look_ outside right now.

Because in a military fallout bunker hidden away deep underneath the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range . . .

"It's your only chance."

. . . there _was_ no outside.

Not anymore.

She had tried all the tricks she could think.

Had spent hours and hours and hours and hours and _days_ counting and cataloguing . . .

"The log says-"

"Well, it could be wrong. I just want to check."

"It's the military, Kate, I don't think-"

"John-"

Half-raised hands in surrender.

"Okay, fine. Whatever you want-"

_I _want_ to get _out_ of here!_

But she also didn't.

What would they be facing out there?

According to the sporadic reports they'd been getting, it was a hellscape.

So she tried to focus.

_Think of nothing. Clear your mind._

_. . ._

_I wonder if there's a Blockbuster still standing._

Meditate.

"What are you doing?"

"Downward facing dog."

"Okayyy."

Yoga.

"What are you reading?"

"Medical book. Figured if we ever see people again, I should be ready to do my part."

Study.

Basically anything to keep herself from . . .

"Kate? What are you doing?"

"Cleaning."

"Cleaning?"

"The rocks are so dirty."

"Kate. Stop. Kate? Seriously . . ."

. . . going absolutely _insane_.

* * *

But it wasn't all bad.

The first time she got her period, two weeks in, she almost cried with joy.

_Oh, thank god, I'm not pregnant._

_Sorry, Scott._

Then she panicked.

_Oh no, what am I going to-_

And found the motherload of . . .

_Wow._

. . . generic Tampax and Kotex . . .

_They really do prepare for every eventuality._

. . . on a back shelf of one of the supply rooms.

Then she snatched a bottle of generic aspirin.

_Come to Mama._

And downed it with some military ration coffee and . . .

_Chocolate pudding. Urgh. Chalk._

. . . something she used to would never have admitted to eating before.

_I can't. I'm getting m- oh._

And then she had cried.

She hadn't _wanted_ Scott to die.

She had _loved_ him.

She just hadn't . . .

_What if he leaves? What if I leave?_

. . . been sure she wanted to marry him.

And now he was dead.

How exactly, she didn't know.

Didn't want to know.

And it didn't matter.

Because everybody else was dead and gone too.

Her father.

She was sure her mother.

And her mother's new boyfriend, Jeffrey.

Everyone she had ever known.

Not known.

Three billion lives, the terminator had said.

Roughly half of everyone in the world.

And with the nuclear holocaust and human-killing machines, so many more in the aftermath.

For so long.

Maybe forever.

And so, military chocolate pudding and aspirin and sanitary supplies as her new friends, she had laid on the bed in one of the rooms and cried.

And slept.

And dreamed.

* * *

John Conner wasn't sleeping though.

He was remaining, as much as possible . . .

"Kate? Could you, uh, standby on the mic here?"

"Yeah, why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I have to go to the bathroom."

"Oh. Yeah. Sure."

He was staying at the comms.

Listening. Waiting.

Answering.

Always.

Always answering.

He slept at the comms.

Head on arms, body slumped in chair.

Terminatrix-gouged leg healing more slowly than it should.

Because he wasn't resting, wasn't eating.

Wasn't doing much of anything else other than . . .

"Hello? Hello? Is anybody there?"

"This is John Conner."

. . . listening for survivors.

"Conner! Do you know who's doing this? Who's attacking us? The Russians? North Korea?"

"It's machines. Skynet. Military created artificial intelligence defense system. It's taken over."

"What?"

Repeating the information. Repeating the story.

Telling it, so people would know.

"What do we do? How can we beat it?"

"You don't. Not yet. Right now, the only mission is to survive. Help each other."

So the human race could . . .

"Don't die."

. . . survive.

* * *

**Perspective, huh? Think I'll be nicer to people at work tomorrow. **

**Thank you, DinahRay, you wonderful friend! I appreciate that review! **

**Thanks also to the silent readers of this story. :)**


	3. Persona Non Grata

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

Just Us Now

Persona Non Grata

* * *

"_Why?! _Why did you _do_ that?! Why did you just let him throw me back_ in_ here?! Why don't you just let me _go_?!"

Her distress, her rage, was deafening in the suffocating confines of the covered truck bed.

Practically vibrating in place, screaming and ranting.

Crammed in the furtherest corner of the small space.

Away from him.

"If you try and rape me, I swear to god I'll beat the shit out of you!"

He held up his hands in front of him.

_What?_

Peacefully.

_Why the hell would I do something like that?_

Keeping as far . . .

"I'm not going to rape you! Jesus! I'm not even going to _touch_ you. Would you just . . . please calm _down_?"

. . . away from her as humanly . . .

_She's going to be part of the Resistance? Seriously?_

_Well, she did punch a terminator._

_And shoot me with a paintball gun._

_And _know_ it was a paintball gun._

. . . possible.

"Then why are you keeping me trapped in here? Let me_ go_!"

He slid down on the balls of his feet, braced himself against the wall of the terminator-driven vehicle.

Randomly realizing it was exactly the same type of truck he had once driven through the front of a smelting factory.

_Shit. That's not good._

And redirected himself to her.

"Listen, that terminator . . . that woman . . . she was coming to kill you. You're safer with us than on your own."

_I think. I mean, he's a terminator._

"Why?! What did I do?!"

And he just hated the whole thing all over again.

Fucking bike wreck. Fucking deer.

Fucking fate.

"Nothing. Not yet. It's just . . . it's what you _will_ do."

Even to him he sounded insane.

"What are you _talking_ about?!" she screeched, sounding more frustrated than scared now. "What will I do?!"

_Hell if I know._

"Listen, I'm not going to hurt you."

He gestured.

"Neither is he. I swear."

Another gesture.

"Now will you please sit down? Please?"

She eyed him warily.

_On my side. Yeah. No. I don't think so._

Shakily edging across the wall.

Closer to the door.

He let her.

_Sorry to burst your bubble but if the terminator doesn't want you to go anywhere, you're not going anywhere._

But she'd already learned that, he guessed.

Then she sat.

Tight. Wrapping her skinny arms around her skinny legs.

Tight like a wire.

Glaring at him.

And he sat slowly.

Easily. No sudden moves.

Legs up.

And spread.

Comfortable enough and braced as possible.

And . . .

_Look. Clear junk shot._

And waited . . .

_I'm harmless, . . ._

. . . for her to calm down.

_. . . okay?_

And compose herself.

"Jerky?"

* * *

He jerked out of his stupor, slouched at the comms.

A hand on his shoulder.

"John?"

He blinked owlishly.

And found her.

Kate.

_Ahrumm-_

"I need to take a look at your leg."

_Herg?_

"Where the terminator grabbed it?"

Her eyes were kind, worried.

Much different than when they first had met.

". . . clue, not a paintball gun-"

She was still talking.

". . . checked it when we first got here but, frankly, I sort of forgot . . ."

_Yeah. Machine-based apocalypses are like that._

She was looking into his eyes.

Focusing in.

"John? John, are you listening to me?"

And he blinked again.

"Yeah. Okay."

* * *

It looked bad.

A swath of purple flesh on one side, ending with a long, vaguely reminiscent Florida-shaped mark.

And on the other side, a clear bruise set of four fingers.

Squeezed mercilessly into the skin, the muscle.

It felt pretty bad too.

Like she/it had tried to rip the muscle apart.

Kate touched it lightly and he hissed in pain.

"I think you have a subperiosteal hematoma," his former kidnapee murmured.

"A what?" John asked, grimacing.

"A bone bruise," she amended. "Maybe a fracture too."

_Awesome._

* * *

There wasn't much to do for it.

The newly discovered med bay offered up a helpful horde of generic painkillers, ointments, bandages, and first aid supplies.

Since he wouldn't leave the comms station, Kate made him prop the injured appendage up in a chair.

Pressed a first aid cold pack on it.

"You might need to wear a brace for a while while it heals. I'll check the med bay."

Then she changed . . .

"God, this leg's been mangled."

. . . his animal clinic-triaged motorcycle road rash.

"Yeah. It's, uh, it's been a big day."

He managed a smile.

"Thanks, Kate."

She gave it back.

"You're welcome, John."

* * *

**So I figured there had to be a transition between her escape attempt at the 7-11 and them sitting peacefully in the back of the truck.**

**And then, you know, post-movie.**

**Thanks to DinahRay for generously reviewing! :D**

**And thanks to the silent readers as well.**


	4. M-O-M Spells Badass

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

Just Us Now

M-O-M Spells Badass

* * *

"Lo siento, señora."

And John had just stared.

_Six months?_

_Six fucking months?_

They had defeated Skynet over two years ago.

Won the war against the machines before it even started.

Saved billions of lives.

Hell, even reunited as a family, moreso than he could ever remember in his entire, miserable life . . .

"Good night, John. I love you."

Love you, Mom."

. . . only for _this_?

Leukemia.

_God._

"Mom, listen, Mom," fifteen year old him'd begun. "Listen, it's gonna be okay, Mom. We're gonna fight this. We can fight this."

Pleading, almost. Begging.

And his mother, Sarah Conner, had turned to him.

Fire in her steely blue eyes, face already hardening for the battle ahead, had nodded.

"Goddamn right we're going to fight it," she'd asserted. "I've got to see it."

And he been lost, confused.

Dumbass him.

"See what, Mom?"

As if he didn't know.

"Judgement Day."

_Judgement Day?_

"But, Mom," he'd started. "We stopped it."

She'd patted his hand, fingers like cold claws.

"I know, John. But I have to see it. I have to make sure."

And he'd felt all the old grief, resentment, pain.

Live.

Not to see him.

_No, that'd be silly, right?_

Live to see _it_.

Or not it.

Whatever.

"I have to make sure it's really over."

And then, switching back to Spanish flawlessly, she'd turned back to the doctor.

"Dime cómo vencerlo."

_Beat it, yep. That's my mom. She's going to beat the shit out of advanced acute myeloid leukemia._

And the doctor, a potbellied, balding, bespectacled man, had given her a pitying expression.

"Señora, no puedes vencerlo. Está en lo profundo de su columna vertebral, cerca de extenderse a su cerebro."

Spinal column.

Brain.

_Jesus._

And Sarah Conner, John's one and only mother, had clenched her jaw, closed her eyes for the briefest of moments.

And opened them.

Determination burning bright.

And spoken, low and even.

"Mejor comencemos entonces, ¿no?"

_We'd better get started then._

* * *

At her insistence, they had thrown everything they could at her death sentence.

Pills, chemo.

Blood transfusions.

Aggressive. Just like her.

_Do it_, she'd told them. _I need to live. For my son_.

And they had.

Everything.

It had turned her into an old woman before her time.

Hair brittle, falling out.

No energy, exhausted all the time.

Bruises, so many bruises.

If she even clapped her hands together to kill an annoying mosquito, bruise.

No appetite, already slender frame skeletonizing.

Muscles wasting away.

Bent, old.

Shrunken.

Haggard.

But not . . .

"John. John, come here."

. . . broken.

She had never complained, never whined.

Never cried or lamented or cursed God.

She had simply . . .

"John, get me some crackers, would you, please? I'm not feeling well."

. . . fought.

Her friends had tried to keep him back turn him away from her silent suffering.

But he had refused to go.

"I'm here, Mom."

Refused to leave her side.

Hospital.

Home.

Hospital.

Home.

He had fed her, cleaned her.

Offered up his own body.

"¿Podemos hacer un trasplante o algo así?"

"No. Su condición es demasiado avanzada."

_Great. That's just great._

_ Did you know I was supposed to be the savior of the human resistance against the machines?_

_I can't even save my own mom from fucking leukemia._

_God, I'm worthless._

And eventually just . . .

"Hey, Mom, you remember when you were trying to teach me how to make pipe bombs and I burned my eyebrows off?"

. . . talked to her.

And listened . . .

"John . . ."

. . . when she talked.

"If this really is over, if we stopped Judgement Day . . ."

Pause for wheezing.

Careful John, ready to help.

". . . every day will be a gift. Every day will be something to appreciate."

More wheezing.

"Do it, John. Enjoy your life. Be free. Be . . ."

More attentiveness.

". . . aware. But be free. If it's really over, be free."

_Yeah, sure, Mom. _

_But how?_

She had never trained him for that.

* * *

And then Judgement Day had come and gone.

And Sarah Conner, mother of the Savior of the world, had come and gone.

It had happened on a Thursday, weeks after Judgement Day.

She had been in a coma . . .

"I love you, John. I'm sorry I ever acted like I didn't. I was only trying to protect you."

"I know, Mom. I love you too."

. . . for four days.

And John . . .

"Lo siento, John ella se ha ido."

. . . had bent his head.

And cried until he was empty.

"Puedes quedarte con nosotros, amigo. Nos ocuparemos de ti."

And then . . .

"No gracias, Paulo. Tengo que . . . Tengo que seguir moviéndome."

. . . he had left.

Rode out on his bike . . .

_I love you, Mom._

. . . and never looked back.

* * *

And the guy who had to be nuts . . .

_Last hope for human kind._

_He smells._

. . . had freaked completely out.

And the kidnapped Katherine Brewster had been there to witness it.

"No! What are you doing?! Hey, _stop_!"

Pushing against the terminator, scrabbling at his hands like a little kid.

"Get away from it! _Stop_!"

Scrambling back in terror as the lid of the casket had opened.

_Oh god, please not a rotting corpse-_

Revealing a cache of weapons.

_Oh thank god._

Instead of a dead body.

And Katherine Brewster . . .

_Guns. I bet they're loaded._

. . . had taken a second . . .

"What happened to her?"

. . . to speak her first words of kindness . . .

"Leukemia."

. . . to the shaken guy, man, _boy_ . . .

"I'm sorry."

. . . slumped on the concrete bench.

"We were living in Baja when she was diagnosed . . ."

* * *

Time moved slow in the post apocalyptic underground.

So slow in fact . . .

"John?"

. . . that sometimes she thought it had stopped entirely.

"Yeah?"

Would have thought that.

"I wanted to ask, I mean, you don't have to answer if you don't want to . . ."

If it weren't for the digital red faced clock on the comms station.

"What?"

She thought she would die of the silence.

"Tell me about your mother."

So to combat that, sometimes they just sat.

"Oh. Ha. Uh. Well . . ."

And talked.

* * *

**Apologies if there are any mistakes in the Spanish dialogue or my cancer research. I did my best.**

**And hey, thanks to SkyHighFan for adding your support to this story! :)**


	5. Voice in the Darkness

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

Just Us Now

Voice in the Darkness

* * *

Nothing for hours, days.

No radio contact, no voices in the dark.

And John Conner, Leader of the Human Resistance and Man Hiding Safely In A Hole While Billions Of Innocents Perished, was becoming increasingly distraught.

"Why isn't anyone checking in?"

Katherine Brewster, Veterinarian and Woman Hiding Safely in A Hole While Billions of Innocents Perished, didn't know the answer to that question.

"What if they're gone? What if they're dead?"

"Which ones?"

"Any of them. _All _of them."

"I don't know."

A lengthy pause.

No movement, no sound.

Stillness and silence in the depths.

Then, in an explosion of motion, he jerked his fist up.

And smashed it down on the tabletop.

Kate jumped, alarm and panic racing through her.

If he freaked, if something went wrong in him, it was just the two of them.

And that was i-

"God!" he growled. "I _hate_ all this waiting!"

The Waiting Place, yeah, Dr. Seuss had been right.

The Waiting Place _sucked_.

"I can't . . . I can't help _anybody_! I'm supposed to be their _savior_," he spat out in a bitter, sarcastic tone. "And I can't even do anything to _help _them!"

His face was strained, ears red.

He was coming apart and trying not to.

Squeezing sunken eyes shut.

Dragging shaking hands through spikes of disheveled hair.

And when he spoke next, his voice was quieter.

Almost broken.

"What am I supposed to do, Kate?"

She stared at him.

Heart pounding with fight or flight adrenaline.

Choosing . . . him.

The humanity in him that was suffering.

Suffering because he could not ease the suffering of others.

She was trembling, shaking too.

And she made herself stop.

Stop so she could help.

Maybe.

"You can talk to them, John."

And his face pinched, frustration and rage and helplessness mixing up in a sick stew of despair.

"They're not _there_, Kate! _Nobody_ is!"

And she shook her head.

There was this book she had read once.

Post apocalyptic nuclear war survival science fiction.

_Apparently it's a thing._

In the book, these people had this radio. They listened to it at the same time everyday.

Creeping along through the dials, from one end to the other.

AM. FM.

First one, then the other.

Searching, searching for a voice.

Another soul out there.

Out in the darkness.

Another person to prove the world was still spinning, that all was not lost.

They thrived on it, survived on it.

It was all that kept some of them from killing themselves.

Because it was the loneliness, the despair, the hopelessness that really got you in the end.

"You don't know that, John," she replied in a calm, even voice. "You don't know who's out there, listening to the radios, searching for help, just even a voice in the darkness."

He was staring at the floor, far, far away from her, it seemed.

"They won't have a way to reply like the military guys do. People the military guys may not even _know_ about. But they're out there. And they will hear _you_."

She stopped talking, wondering if he was even with her right then.

And then he shook his head a little, staring at his hands, picking, fidgeting.

Without purpose.

"What would I even _say_? What _can_ I say to them?"

She took a deep breath.

"Tell them . . . tell them they're not alone. Tell them not to give up."

She paused, shrugged.

And spoke.

"Give them _hope_, John."

* * *

"This is John Conner."

He paused, releasing the mic switch.

_I feel stupid. Nobody's listening._

_What do I even say?_

_Why would anyone care about what I have to say?_

He took a deep breath, pushed the switch down again.

"This is John Conner. If you're listening to this, you are not alone . . ."

* * *

**So, yeah?**

**Anyway, the book mentioned is 'Swan Song', by Robert McCammon. _Awesome_ read. **

**Speaking of which, thanks to the silent readers of this little tale. :)**


	6. Levity, Even In The Apocalypse

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

Just Us Now

Levity, Even In The Midst of The Apocalypse

* * *

"Ouch."

Her breath came out as a hiss.

_Stupid, damn, stupid, arghh . . ._

"Are you okay?"

She glanced and saw him looking at her, face an open question.

She had groaned out loud, was grumbling under breath.

Twisting her arms into unnatural contortions.

"Yeah. I'm fine," she groused, another sensation spiking through the high middle center of her back. "I just need . . ."

And there was a pen.

If she could only _angle_ it.

"Kate?"

Her tone embarrassed and her face red, she spoke.

"I have an . . . itch. I can't reach it."

Disbelief passed over his face.

She knew.

Killer terminators, nuclear war.

Post-apocalyptic fallout.

Humanity on the brink of extinction.

And Kate Brewster has an itch she can't reach.

_Well, you asked. Mind your own business next time._

Then he moved behind her.

"Where?"

Light fingers touching her back.

And she could feel her blush getting worse as she gave up, gave in.

And let him help her.

"Down."

The fingers moved, scratching across the fabric of her T-shirt.

"Left."

Skating across the band of her bra.

"Down."

And he hit it.

The relief was instantaneous and righteous and holy.

_Oh thank god._

And her tense muscles relaxed.

She sighed, not meaning verbalize out loud.

The scratching sensation continued for a few more seconds.

Then stopped.

She turned.

Saw his slightly amused smile.

_Oh shut up._

And felt her own.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

And then, ducking his still smiling head, he went back to the comms station.

And she watched him go.

* * *

He still couldn't get it out of his head.

Found his mind drifting to it sometimes when it had been quiet over the radio for a while.

Her.

Standing there in that destroyed hall, automatic gripped in her hands.

Standing there, blowing that machine to bits.

Before that moment, save for fighting the terminator for about ten seconds and then later shooting him/it in the face, all she'd done was scream and cry and run.

Which was what any normal, sane civilian would have done given same circumstances.

And then, the death of her father, the pressure and insanity of the entire shitshow.

She had suddenly had enough, leapt up from the ground, grabbed the nearest weapon.

Blown that drone to hell.

He'd still been down, stunned, gazing up at her in shock of her defiance.

The snarl, the gritted teeth.

The hate, the rage.

The tears and whimpering were gone.

In the their place was . . . just a badass.

Just like his mother.

She even looked like her.

Well, not exactly.

Not at all really.

But the way she'd blown that thing straight to hell.

Yeah. He could see it.

It wasn't true love or lust or even any kind of actual affection.

John Conner, future Leader of the Human Resistance wasn't currently well-versed in Sigmund Freud.

Sarah Conner's survival lessons hadn't covered Greek mythology.

So he didn't know it wasn't an Oedipus thing.

It was just . . . recognition.

_Wow._

And a big impression.

* * *

"So it worked, huh?"

"What?"

When we were in the back of the truck. You said "like the bad boy thing still works".

"Oh."

"So it worked?"

She blushed, looking annoyed.

"Well, yeah." Defensive. "Worked on a lot of girls, I'm sure."

And saw that John smirk forming his bad boy-not bad boy face.

"No. Not really. You're the only one who kissed me."

She blushed harder, annoyance increasing.

"So, what, you've been carrying a torch for me all this time?"

She watched him shrug.

"No. Never really thought about it much after that night."

Her embarrassed annoyance with him shifted over to a slight different but still related annoyance with him.

"Oh. Well, _thanks_."

He raised a mildly, seemingly incredulous eyebrow.

Gestured vaguely.

As if to say, _come__ on, I mean, really, with my l__ife?_

They held, eye to eye for just a moment longer.

And then she huffed a relenting smile.

"Okay. Yeah. Alright."

And turned away.

And behind her back, unseen, John grinned.

* * *

"My database does not encompass the dynamics of human pair bonding."

That's what the terminator, the _newest_ terminator anyway, had said.

Human pair bonding.

_God_.

_Hey, nice to meet you. I'm John. Wanna human pair bond? No?_

He glanced over at Kate, seated on the main room couch a few feet away,

Glaring at one of the medical books she had scrounged up from somewhere.

She really was pretty, in her own way.

That red hair.

That snarl.

Almost like she was going to snatch up a semi automatic from the floor and blast the book to bits.

_Hey, Kate, the terminator said we should human pair bond. Whaddya think?_

A grin he didn't know was there crinkled his eyes, touched one corner of his mouth.

Before turning away.

_Naw, I don't feel like getting punched in the face today._

* * *

**Thanks to my kind guest for reviewing, yay! By the way, what does 'gc' mean?**


	7. Hug It Out

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

Just Us Now

Hug It Out

* * *

That's what was weird.

Fate.

_I'm going to be the Leader of the Resistance._

_I'm going to lead the human race to victory against the machines._

_Can't do that if I'm dead._

_Which means I'm going to live._

Take this drug.

_Sure._

_I won't die._

Drive eighty miles an hour down a twisty mountain road because, well . . .

_I'm John Conner._

_Fated._

_So, whatever._

_Yeah._

And then . . . nothing.

_Thank god. I did not want to do _that.

And that was great.

_I'm gonna go get drunk._

_Maybe laid._

_I wonder what that's like._

And it was great.

But then . . .

_Hang on. _

_If I'm not the Leader of the Human Resistance Against the Machines . . . what am I?_

And the answer was simple.

Nothing.

_I'm nothing._

_Great._

He didn't _want_ the world to end.

Definitely did not want to be the Leader of the Human Resistance Against the Machines.

But he'd never not, except for the infamous six months of suburban adolescent heaven/hell when he was . . .

"Hey, John, going to math class?"

"Nope."

"Wanna skip out and go to the mall?"

"Yeah. Let's book."

. . . thirteen . . .

"What's your name?"

"Kate."

"Kate. Cool."

. . . he'd _always_ had a mission.

And then he didn't.

He also didn't have any connections.

Any family, any friends.

"What's your name?"

"Uh . . . Jo- Dan."

"Dan. Cool. Have a drink?"

"No, thanks. I gotta go."

Any purpose.

_Wonder if I just . . . went away._

_No. Mom'd be pissed._

Except there was no Mom anymore.

There was no anyone.

That was the deal he had made with himself.

The only way to stay safe.

The only way to keep others safe.

To have no one.

To be no one.

Never slow down, never look back.

Never get seen, never get caught.

_Great._

And then and then and _then_, the terminator, well, _a_ terminator, had showed back up.

_Uncle Bob?_

"Are you here to kill me?"

And drug him right back into the middle . . .

"No. You must live."

. . . of everything all over again.

Judgement Day.

Machines.

More bad terminators.

Oh and here's your wife.

_The hell? I don't even know her._

_I don't even _like_ her._

_I only made out with her, like, once._

_Ten years ago._

And you're gonna have kids too.

_You wanna go ahead and tell me their names too?_

_Since it's all already fated and stuff._

_God, I hate this._

_Why me? Why me?!_

Because.

_Oh. Right._

_I'm John Fucking Conner._

And he hated it.

He couldn't even imagine how she felt.

She had a life, more than him anyway.

Complete with a real job and a fiancé.

Happiness and . . . stuff.

_Shit. I'm sorry. Shit._

_Fate, man._

And oh how he hated it.

* * *

Speaking of a real job.

"So what made you want to become a vetrinarian?"

She shrugged.

"Oh, uh, ha. Well, I like animals. They're . . . easier than humans."

He didn't say anything and she figured he was either listening.

"People always . . . play games with you. For themselves. You're never really sure what they're thinking or what they're going to do."

Or didn't care.

"With animals, whether they like you or don't like you . . ."

Either way, she was talking.

". . . at least you know where you stand. There's no games."

She stopped.

Glanced at him.

Intense eyes stared back at her.

Drawing her in . . .

"What?"

Spell broken.

He turned away, shaking his head quietly.

"Nothing. I just . . . I just didn't know you were so _deep_."

She glared at his back.

"What exactly did you think I was?!"

He didn't answer.

Kept going.

"John!"

And she . . .

"Hey!"

. . . followed him.

* * *

**Thanks to angel de acuario for adding your support to this story! Made my day!**


	8. The Bad Boy Thing

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

Just Us Now

The Bad Boy Thing

* * *

She hadn't been sure at first.

_Junkie. Great._

About his identity.

Something had seemed almost instantly vaguely familiar.

_Do I -_

_Wait, is that a paintball gun? Seriously?_

And she had been-

_Buddy, you just don't know who you are fucking with, do you?_

-too distracted taking care of business-

_Stay in there and think about your life for a while, you dick._

-to really comb through her memory banks.

". . . hairball."

"I'd know what a hairball sounds like."

_Obviously you don't because that's exactly what it is._

But then . . .

_Son of a bitch._

. . . it had come to her.

_I made out with him in Mike Kripe's basement._

_Ewww._

_Why did I make out with him in Mike Kripe's basement?_

_He's so . . . grimy._

_And sweaty._

_And locked in my large animal cage._

"You're John Conner."

And then he had given her That Look.

That Look that he didn't even _know_ he had.

That Look that had evolved from That Look he had given her in Mike Kripe's basement.

In the cafeteria.

English class.

When he was there anyway.

And . . .

"Conner! Wake up! Pay attention or I will fail you out of my class!"

. . . conscious.

It was a more mature Look now, more adult.

Well, not _'adult'_ adult-

But it still was That Look.

That 'John Conner' Look.

And it was . . .

_Okay, yeah. I remember now_.

. . . very, very good.

That Look where she had his full, undivided attention.

Because he was . . . trying to figure her out?

Think through the drugs?

"What? What does that mean?"

Probably just trying right now . . .

_Well, glad I made an impression._

. . . to figure out what she was talking about.

_Ass._

"I'm . . ."

_This is going to be a real blow if he doesn't remember._

". . . Kate Brewster."

Nothing.

Blank expression.

No recognition.

_Well . . ._

"We went to West Hills Junior High together?"

_. . . shit._

And there it was.

_School._

Okay.

With about two thousand other kids.

_Okay, fine. Whatever._

And then . . .

". . . murdered."

Her pointed scrutiny.

His mild admonishment/confession.

"I didn't do it."

_Yeah, well, sure, _then_. Now? I don't kn-_

. . . none of it mattered anymore.

_What the hell?_

"Is somebody with you?"

Anyway.

* * *

The Survivors would come.

They were already formulating a plan.

Gathering others unto themselves.

The ones in California.

Arizona.

Nevada.

Anybody who might be close enough to make it.

How, only God knew.

According to the chilling reports, it was a wasteland.

And a battle zone.

And leading the machines to them might prove . . .

"It's not that they _couldn't_ do it immediately. It's that they could have the patience to drill through _forever_. As long as it takes."

. . . disastrous.

Plus . . .

"We gotta find the escape hatch."

"Escape hatch?"

"Yeah. All these places have them. Probably somewhere deep in the mountain. I just don't know-"

"Yeah, I know what an escape hatch is. But . . ."

"What?"

"I just . . . I just don't know what will be out there."

And he had nodded, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah. I know."

* * *

She knew they were destined to lead the Resistance.

Knew they would be instrumental.

The problem was . . .

"Just because there's a machine apocalypse going on, doesn't mean all the humans will automatically be good people."

_I don't want to get raped._

Her worry must have shown on her face.

_I mean, there's a reason my dad insisted I take Krav Maga and firearm training._

He knew women are vulnerable.

Especially in a crisis.

And she knew John knew the same thing.

Because as she was watching, she saw his face tightened with consideration.

"No, Kate, no matter what, I won't let anyone hurt you."

_Yeah, I know-_

"I'll kill them if I have to. Human life is only precious if the person isn't destroying others."

_Yeah, I know but-_

"But I also don't want to be separated either."

She probably sounded whiny but . . .

"You're the only person I trust now, John."

. . . it didn't make it any less true.

He nodded.

"Yeah, me too." He paused. "I mean-"

She nodded, trying to pretend not to shake.

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

_Don't leave me alone, John. I'm terrified._

_I'm terrified of the machines._

_I'm terrified of people I don't know._

That was part of what John had meant.

Even if he hadn't realized.

"All the stuff you take for granted, it's not gonna last."

Take for granted.

Safety.

_Yeah_.

But John was still there.

"It's gonna be okay, Kate."

For now.

"Just you and me, okay? Even when everyone else comes."

She nodded, hating how emotional she was feeling.

Knowing it was a completely logical emotional response to an uncertain, unpredictable world.

Then he hugged her, probably against the threat of her clonking him in the nuts.

"Even though we can arm you with a paintball gun and you won't have anything to worry about."

And she put her head down into his shoulder and squeezed him tight.

"Shut up."

* * *

**Thanks to the silent readers of this story. :)**


	9. Home Sweet Fallout Shelter

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

Just Us Now

Home Sweet Fallout Shelter

* * *

Because they didn't know what the hell they were doing, they did whatever they could think of to do.

They searched through boxes and boxes stacks and stacks and found . . .

"Okay, okay. Now there's got to be pens or pencils somewhere."

. . . maps of the Sierra Nevadas.

Maps of the California.

Maps of Arizona.

Maps of Nevada.

Maps of the entire United States.

The entire North Western Hemisphere.

The entire world.

And they spread them out.

On every available surface they could use.

And they marked them.

A little at a time.

Pockets of resistance.

No-go areas.

Machine factions.

It wasn't very good.

It wasn't very accurate.

It wasn't very through.

But it was the best they could do . . .

". . . -plete loss as far as we can tell . . ."

. . . for a while anyway.

Until they had more intel.

More understanding.

More people.

More . . .

"What's Alpha Papa?"

"Ambush Patrol, I think."

. . . help.

* * *

Interestingly enough, VIP fallout shelters did have bathrooms.

Stainless steel to avoid the apocalypse.

_Makes sense._

With flushing toilets.

_Guess I should appreciate that while we're done here._

_I don't think there's any left up there._

_Oh._

Running showers.

_I hope this water's not radioactive._

And everything . . .

_This toliet paper is like sandpaper._

_Blessed, blessed sandpaper._

. . . one could wish for . . .

_Where is this power coming from? Where is the generator?_

. . . in a post apocalyptic fallout shelter.

* * *

There was also an incinerater schute, presumably for the garbage.

And an . . .

"John! I found it!"

. . . escape hatch.

"Wow. You wanna go first?"

"Uh, no. You?"

"No."

"Yeah."

The flywheel at the top of the hatch worked.

That was enough for now.

* * *

Thank god the doors were labeled.

Waste Holding Tank.

Laundry.

Storage.

Pump Room.

Pharmacy.

Weapons Hold.

Women's Washroom.

Men's Washroom.

Decontamination.

Escape Hatch.

Med Bay.

Surgery.

Generator.

Morgue.

Kitchen.

Bunker A.

Bunker B.

Otherwise she never would have found her way around.

_I . . . It's just so . . ._

* * *

Empty.

It was so empty.

Cavernous and empty.

Just like how she felt in the days and weeks following Judgement Day.

Everything gone.

Everyone gone.

An entire world destroyed by the miscalculations of man.

Everyone she ever knew, probably, dead.

Except for this guy, the first kiss guy . . .

_Why did I tell him? Why the hell did I tell him?_

. . . in Mike Kripke's basement.

* * *

**Never did figure that out. ;)**


	10. You Are Not Alone

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

Just Us Now

You Are Not Alone

* * *

"Oooh," she had intoned sarcastically. "We were _supposed_ to meet."

Sarcastic, yeah.

Because she thought he was full of shit.

Destiny.

Fate.

"Coincidence."

Easy for her to toss off.

She hadn't been raised with Destiny, Fate, and Sarah Conner as the trifecta of childhood developmental constructs.

"Yeah."

And he had.

* * *

"Take care of my daughter."

Five words, six syllables.

Ground out from the purposeful lips of a dying man.

Who knew, in general, what the world was about to become.

Those words.

In a different context, different situation, different environment.

Something a father-in-law might say to his new son-in-law on The Big Day.

Not this big day.

With all the violence and destruction and blood and dying, no.

But still . . .

_Oh god._

He couldn't know.

He _didn't_ know.

But there it was all over again anyway.

Destiny.

Fate.

Not coincidence.

And then-

"Get down!"

-John had thrown himself on top of Kate to shield her from the drone missile screaming over their heads.

And tried to do just that.

* * *

"You know, my dad was always nice about my boyfriends. The one or two he met anyway."

_Wait, what are we-_

"Shook their hands. Talked about the weather."

Then he decided to just listen.

"Told them I was a very special young lady."

Since he didn't know what to say.

"He never met Scott."

_Never? How long were you two _dating_?_

"And when I said I was moving in with him and we were going to get married, he said, 'Is that what you want?'"

She paused.

He waited.

"And I said, 'Yes'. Even though neither of us really completely believed it, I think."

A brief smile.

"Even though he always said without a doubt that he believed in me."

Gray eyes becoming bright with unshed tears.

"But he never . . ."

Another pause.

"He never told any of them to take care of me."

_Oh._

"I guess he would have to Scott. If he had made it to the wedding. If there had _been_ a wedding."

Stabilizing breath.

"I know it was the situation and all . . . and I didn't think of it at the time."

She sniffed, rolled her eyes, like she embarrassed to be admitting something so true.

"But he only ever said that to you, John."

And realizing that it wasn't silly at all.

"He _knew_ what was happening."

That it was really real.

"He knew _exactly_ what he was saying."

More real than anything else.

"Even if we didn't."

And then she just looked at him.

And the Leader of the Human Resistance Against the Machines, future husband of Kate Brewster and future father of their children and guy who didn't have one single, solitary clue of what he was supposed to do _ever_ it seemed, could only think of one thing to say.

"Yeah."

* * *

It wasn't the first time she woke up screaming.

"No!"

And it wouldn't be the last either.

_"No!"_

But it was the first time . . .

"Kate."

. . . she woke up in his arms.

"Kate, it's okay."

Him.

John.

"Kate."

Not Scott.

She was sitting up and crying and half screaming, wrapped up in the horror of the firestorm she had never seen.

"They're on fire!"

His voice was quiet, gentle.

"I know."

Of course it was.

"They're burning up!"

He had been there himself, . . .

"I know, Kate."

. . . hadn't he?

"But it's not real."

She was gasping, shaking.

"You're safe."

She didn't know if he had wrapped his arms around her.

"You're okay."

Or if she had reached out, blindly clutching and grasping.

"Kate."

And crushed him into the embrace.

"Kate."

Either way . . .

"It's okay, Kate."

. . . here they were.

"You're alright."

And it was helping.

"Kate."

She was clearing, recovering herself.

"You're okay."

But not quite enough to let him go yet.

"I know."

Because . . .

"But they're not, are they?"

. . . it was real, far away from them and their safety.

And his voice was even quieter when it came back.

"No. I guess not."

* * *

He gave her coffee.

Hot military instant.

"Here."

She sipped it. Made a face.

Tried to make a joke.

"Well, _that's_ not getting any better."

He grinned a little, head tilted.

That squint.

That John Look.

"Are _you_?"

She nodded over her steaming cup of sludge.

"Yeah. Thank you."

He nodded, hooded eyes softening.

Then she remembered to be self-conscious.

"Sorry I cried all over you like a baby."

He shook his head, casting off her embarrassment.

"It's okay. I have them too. Ever since I can remember."

She stared at him.

"God, how do you _sleep_?"

He huffed, glancing at his hands, voice casually dismissive.

"I don't, really. Not well anyway."

She could tell. He was the most haunted person she had ever known.

And then he made a coffee for himself.

* * *

"Kate? What are you doing?"

_Dragging a full sized mattress down the hall of a fallout shelter. Give me . . ._

". . . a hand?"

So together, they drug said mattress . . .

"Why?"

"I can't sleep on those couches anymore. They suck."

He didn't say anything, just heaved as they turned the corner together.

"This is close enough, I think," she grunted.

And dropped it.

"Why don't you stay in one of the bedrooms?" her dumbass partner in apocalypse questioned.

She didn't meet his eyes, not quite, occupying herself with brushing her hair out of her eyes for the moment.

"It's too far away."

"From what?"

_Jesus, Conner, want me to spell it out for you?_

"The comms. You. Everything."

_Enough?_

"Oh. Okay."

Then she went and got pillows.

Two.

Sheets.

Two.

And blankets.

Two.

"Two?"

She decided not to roll her eyes.

"Yes."

Yet.

"For who?"

And then . . .

"You. Leaders of the Resistance need their rest too, smartass."

And he didn't say anything.

And he didn't move either.

"John, you need to rest."

"No, I'm fine."

John, you're dead on your feet."

He set his jaw in determination.

"Not yet."

"John-"

And his stoicism cracked a little.

"I _can't_, alright?! I can't . . ."

Vague gesture.

"I can't leave them out there alone, Kate."

She knew.

The survivors.

Important.

But also . . .

"John, just lay down for a while. I'll take a shift, okay?"

He shook his head.

"It's . . . it's supposed to be my responsibility."

She nodded

Leader of the resistance.

Savior.

"Yeah, I know," she said. "But even _Jesus_ slept. We just don't have a boat."

He looked at her, checking to see if she was making fun of him.

She wasn't.

Finally.

"Okay."

* * *

"Muhhh . . . heferenn . . . -tch out . . . Kate-"

He had talked in his sleep before.

Mumbling and twitching.

Shaking and moaning, curled into a miserable ball on his side.

". . . -back . . . jerrsg . . ."

Almost shadow-boxing her face when she had tried to shake him awake.

"Whoa, whoa! John, it's me!"

So this time, coupled with the fact that he had never mumbled her name in his sleep before, she decided to try a different tactic.

Katherine Brewster slowly lowered herself down on the mattress next to the anxiety-riddled dreamer.

Eased herself over next to him.

And carefully spooned her body into his back.

Wrapping her free arm around him, pressing her head against the back of his neck.

"It's okay, John. It's alright."

Quiet. Reassuring. Comforting, she hoped.

And eventually his shudders and mutters subsided.

Though he still stayed curled up tight.

She stayed where she was for a while thereafter.

A promised listening ear open for the radio.

* * *

When he woke up . . .

_Mmm . . ._

. . . he was warm.

_Nice._

Calm.

_Wait-_

And . . .

"Kate?"

"Hey."

. . . not alone.

"Hey. What's up? Is everything okay?"

He thought maybe she'd another nightmare.

Freaked out and cuddled.

But . . .

"Yeah. You were, uh, having a nightmare. So I just . . . it seemed to help."

. . . apparently it was the other way around.

"Oh. Thanks."

He whiffed a smile he didn't even know was there.

Heart swelling and warming.

Just a little.

_Hey-_

Then the arm around his chest loosened . . .

_Awww-_

. . . as her body weight shifted away . . .

_Stay-_

"I gotta . . . get the . . ."

And he rolled over to speak . . .

_Kate-_

And the comms radio went off . . .

"Hello? This is Nevada Civil Defense. Hello?"

. . . and it was loud enough to wake the living _and_ the sleeping.

"This is John Conner . . ."

And he got up and did what he had been born to do.

* * *

**Thanks to shadow59 for so graciously reviewing earlier! You made my day! :D**


	11. Pushing Back The Void

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

Just Us Now

Pushing Back The Void

* * *

Except when they didn't sleep.

"John? Are you awake?"

His reply came back quick, too soon to have been asleep, even for him.

"Yeah. Are you okay? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

Quiet for a moment.

Then she rolled over to her right to face him.

Bending her arm up to brace her head, fingernails pressure pointing her scalp through her hair.

Looking at him.

John Conner.

Laying on his back. Left arm bent back, hand cradling his head.

Eyes previously scanning the shadowy ceiling above, she guessed.

Head turning now, hair rasping the pillow.

Eyes rotating to her.

"What is it?"

Not unkind.

He wasn't.

Especially in the dead of night (only verified by the red-tinged clock and the dimness of the lights they used to mark time) when sleep mocked and life became a yawning void.

And she found herself twisting and kneading the covering of mattress idly with her left hand.

"Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you weren't, you know, supposed to be the Leader of the Resistance?"

Leader of the Resistance.

So weird.

Grandiose delusions.

But not.

True.

He blew air out through his nose, bittersweet tinge to his voice when he spoke.

"No. It's the only reason I was born. To save the human race. I can't think of any other life."

_Wow. What a mind melt._

And a Jesus complex.

_God_.

"I do," she replied quietly. "I would have . . . married Scott, bought a house, had kids, worked as a vet."

John didn't say anything.

"We would have gone on vacations, paid our taxes, taken the kids to gymnastics or football, the whole thing."

She snorted.

"And I loved him, I really did. But you know what? I would have gotten incredibly bored with it all."

He lay there listening to her.

"_Bored_, can you believe it? What a joke. We would have watched tv at night and complained about the weather and argued about the lawn."

She chuckled sadly.

"I'm not sure if I would have known I was bored. But picking out the china that last day . . ."

So long ago-

". . . was just kind of . . . _tedious_, you know?"

His answer was honest.

"No, not really."

She laughed, supposed she was being silly.

"Yeah. Right. Sorry. I guess I'm boring you."

He shook his head, smiling a little as he gazed at her.

Gazed at her with those eyes she'd always thought of as dark, hooded.

Brooding.

Then one day she had turned around.

Caught his sight.

Him, looking at her with those eyes.

And the light had been just right and he had smiled.

A lopsided, friendly, fleeting fondness.

And she had realized . . .

_Oh. They're blue._

. . . she had been wrong.

_That's . . . interesting._

And she had smiled back.

At that smile.

And That Look.

Like the one he had now.

"No, it's okay," he murmured. "Talk to me."

She grinned, feeling bashful . . .

_It's not a church youth group sleepover, Kate. It's the apocalypse._

. . . and just spoke the next thought that came into her head.

"You know I was thinking about right before the T-X busted through the clinic? How annoyed I was at that lady for bringing in her stupid cat with a stupid hairball."

She sniffed, emotions shifting, feeling tears wanting to flood her eyes.

"And then that . . . _thing_ came in and just cut her down. Like she was nothing. And then I felt guilty for hating her and her stupid hairball cat."

The moisture finally slipping out, tracking down her face, reminding her she was too human, too weak to survive against the machines.

She swiped it away and kept talking.

"And then when the bombs dropped, I thought, well, at least she didn't have to die in some firestorm like I'd seen in the movies."

She barked out a tiny laugh at her own absurdity.

"And then I felt guilty about that too. God, I guess I'm a mess now too?"

As she hung, then rose her head up from her shame, John shook his own head a little.

"No, Kate. You're . . . beautiful. Your perceived weakness, _that's_ your humanity. But it's not a weakness; it's a strength. That's what you have that the machines don't. And it's an easy thing to lose. Especially when everything around you is death and destruction."

His words touched her, surprised her.

"Thank you."

Made her forgive herself.

And consider him.

"When did you become such a philosopher, Conner?"

He smiled a little.

"Well, I can have all kinds of thoughts about all kinds of things when I'm not being shot at."

She nodded reflexively, thinking she understood his track.

"Thrown in a cage . . ."

Which apparently she didn't.

"Wha-"

Brief confusion.

"Screamed at . . ."

Overtaken by amused annoyance . . .

"Hey . . ."

. . . even she caught up.

"_Hey_, . . ."

And tossed up her own perfectly valid retort.

". . . _you_ broke into _my_ clinic! _And_ you and your terminator _kidnapped_ me!"

Their quiet chuckles intermingled.

"Well, you know, if you didn't want to be a part of the Resistance, you should have been working at the post office, okay?"

This statement befuddled her.

"The post office? Wait, why the _post_ office?"

John shook his head, mirth dying down a little.

"I don't know, I'm tired."

And she quieted too.

"I know. Me too. But I feel better. Thank you. For talking to me. It made me feel . . . not so alone."

She smiled a little, feeling . . . grateful for his presence in this whatever had become of her life.

_I would have died out there that day. Never even seen it coming. I don't know if that would have been better than this._

_But I'm here now._

_And so is he._

And she looked at him.

His eyes were half-lidded as he gazed at her, the only other living thing she had seen in months.

He looked sleepy.

And vulnerable.

Messy.

And still, in his own way, attractive.

_You're not at a church youth group sleepover, Kate_, she thought again.

And then she, slowly and really, really uncertainly, leaned over.

And kissed him.

His eyes stayed fixed on hers, shifting from one to the other as she leaned in.

He didn't rise up to meet her.

But he didn't shy away either.

Like it was all her decision, her choice.

_Well, I was the one that was engaged at the beginning of this whole thing._

_Was._

His lips were warm when they met.

It was barely more than a press.

No other contact at all.

Well, maybe her hair on his face. She needed to cut it.

And then she broke the kiss and leaned back.

His eyes, having slipped closed the second before hers, opened now.

Followed her without the rest of him moving.

She smiled hesitantly.

He returned.

"Sorry," she blushed, feeling stupid apologizing. "I just . . . wanted to."

He nodded the slightest bit.

"Yeah, me too."

And she smiled again.

Started to lean back in.

When he stopped her.

With four, simple, honest words.

"I'm not Scott, Kate."

_Yeah, you're right about that. Scott could have never faced down what you did. He had anxiety going to the mall on a Saturday._

"I know you're not," she said frankly. "I'm not asking you to be."

And she wasn't.

That was over.

But she was alive.

And so was he.

And that was something.

So she gazed at him openly, that haunted man with his looking eyes and scraggly face.

That guy who looked so young.

And was.

But felt so old, she guessed.

And then, since he wasn't going to do it for her, she kissed him again.

* * *

**And now we're back at the first chapter again. From Kate's perspective.**


	12. Human Pair Bonding

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

Just Us Now

***Note chapter title. Not graphic but yes that's the subject matter.***

Human Pair Bonding

* * *

He didn't know how to touch her like Scott did.

He couldn't know how. He wasn't him.

And he wasn't experienced much at all in any way of any kind of intimacy.

She figured, because, well, the whole previous life experience thing.

He wasn't rough.

He was gentle.

He was inexperienced.

Conscientious.

And so very aware.

She did know that when his fingers slipped past her shirt, grazed the tender skin of her lower stomach, her nerves tingled.

And cramped pleasantly, needfully, deep inside her.

And she did know that the more he kissed her and the more she kissed him, the more she wanted to.

They had drawn together, shifting their weights forward.

Until, she, having started the whole thing, was in his arms, pulling his face down to hers.

Lips and tongues. And needs and wants.

Their breathing harshening, growing heavier as the minutes passed.

And his lips sought the tender flesh of her throat, her neck.

The cotton of his shirt was in the way.

The cotton of _her_ shirt was in the way.

And she didn't want it to be.

She took action then, pushing him back and down.

The pleased surprise and growing need on his face so much better than grim desolation and stoic determination right now.

She straddled him then, throwing off her top in a bold, careless move.

She didn't have alot to reveal, she'd always been skinny and just almost flat-chested.

Knew that her body, like his, was still discolored and blotchy in places, bruised still after more than two months healing.

But here in the machine world apocalypse, she guessed it didn't matter.

Him seeming to drink her in, hungry mouth falling open just a little.

And That Look.

She grinned and he grinned.

His mouth.

She wanted more of it.

And less clothes.

She reached down and tugged on his shirt, a signal to sit up.

He complied and she shifted back, just enough to give him room.

As soon as he was in legs-crossed, sitting position, she was on top of him again, pulling his shirt off.

His hair was more of a mess than ever and she wanted to run her fingers through it.

She did, seeking his mouth with hers.

Feeling his warm palms, fingers, pressing to, roaming, the soft flesh of her back.

And his chest, thin and wiry, with its light tickling of hair.

Warm skin-to-skin contact in the cool air of the vast, underground room.

As his mouth broke from hers and sought out that sensitive spot just behind and below her ear, she cried out softly.

And when her bra was gone, she clutched his head, fingers digging into his scalp.

Arching her back, lifting her chest.

Feeling her body flame as his lips, his tongue, found what she wanted them to find.

And he eventually turned them and lay them down together, weight pressing her down into the mattress.

* * *

He kept looking into her eyes here and there, as if searching her face to assure that what he was doing or kissing or touching and how, was okay with her.

Which it was.

Or also perhaps also reassuring himself that she was real, she was human, and she was really there with him at that moment.

That they were together.

And he was not lost and alone in the world of the machine apocalypse.

She did know that whatever any and all the reasons, his glittering, searching, desirous eyes whenever they caught hers, heightened her sense of need and want in a way she had not anticipated.

All the ways in which they kissed each other, touched each other, looked at each other, bespoke of their shared connection, their shared _humanity_.

* * *

Then he stuttered to a halt.

Drawing back, breaking contact.

"Wait, wait, wait. What if we, uh, what if, uh, you, I mean, we're not, the world just-"

And she blinked up at him.

Him hovering above her, hands braced against the mattress.

Her trying to think through his awkward stammering.

And then it came on like a light.

And she huffed a laugh.

"John, I was engaged to be _married_. _Living_ with my fiancé. Trust me, it's taken care of. Don't worry."

"Oh."

He seemed relieved. But immediately opened up entirely new freight train of thought.

Heading in the opposite direction, so to speak.

"But what if later we, you know, uh, want to, you know-"

And she reached up, cradling his scruffy face in her hands, smiling in fond amusement at him . . .

_He really is a good guy._

. . . and surreshed her answer.

"We'll deal with that when the time comes, okay?"

He nodded vaguely, as if trying to work out everything that could happen before it happened.

Strategy. Tactics. Defense. Offense.

Fate.

And she shook his head playfully between her palms, redirecting him back to her again.

Recapturing his gaze with her own with a smile.

"John, don't think about it right now. Don't think about any of it right now. Just be with me. Just us. Okay?"

And he nodded, skirted a smile.

"Okay."

And then she drew him back down to her again.

"Okay."

* * *

They were, for a better word, entwined now.

Moving in rhythm and clinging to each other.

Breathing heavy and ragged and punctuated with moans and soft cries of pleasure.

But John, was still John.

"You know if . . . the radio goes off in the next few minutes . . . I'm gonna be . . . really mad at the machines . . ."

She gave a faint gasp, another wave of pleasure rippling through her body.

"Yeah . . . me too . . ."

The radio did not go off.

"John . . ."

Not that time.

"Kate . . ."

* * *

He almost sounded like he was in pain.

A boyfriend before Scott had once said it could be so powerful it'd make a grown man cry.

But that guy hadn't been labeled the Leader of the Human Resistance, pushed to the limits of humanity, and attacked at various points in his life by humanoid cyborg assassins.

He also hadn't shut himself off from basic human contact just to stay alive.

Or survived the machine apocalypse.

And John had.

He was crying out in a low, muffled voice.

Shaking and trembling, completely crumbling, it seemed.

So she held him tight as he buried his face in her neck, squeezed him with her arms, her legs, her entire body.

Until he calmed and stilled and quieted.

And raised his head weakly to look at her.

He didn't speak right away, just looked.

With those intense, hooded eyes.

"What?" she uttered self-consciously before she could stop herself.

(She had been through a lot too.)

She half expected a _'pretty sure we didn't do _that_ in Mike Kripie's basement'_.

Or something akin.

But instead, a small smile touched his eyes, the thin curve of his mouth.

"Nothin'," he murmured softly. "You're just . . . you're just really beautiful, you know that?"

She thought there was more to it.

But a lot had occurred between them in such a short span tonight.

And so she decided to give him some time.

And maybe he'd say more later.

"Thank you."

* * *

**Human pair bonding.**

**Yep.**

**Thanks to shadow59 for generously reviewing the previously chapter. You rock!**

**Thanks to jff0123 for adding your support to this story! :D**


	13. From Here

I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am a sucker for these movies tho.

Just Us Now

From Here

* * *

And then, they just kind of . . . lay there.

Side by side.

Processing, to use machine-speak, what they'd just done, what had just occurred.

And her face must have expressed something.

Because, sounding like he was trying to be nonchalant, John spoke.

"Regretting shackin' up with a mess?"

And Kate frowned, shifting over to her side to face him.

"No, _no_, not at _all_."

His eyebrows raised in mild amusement at her sincerity.

And she attempted to expound.

"No, I'm glad we did it. I wanted to."

Paused.

Searching for words.

"But . . . I mean . . . what we do now? Like, what's next?"

And John, in a moment of lightness and . . .

_What was the word the Terminator used?_

. . . levity, grinned and responded emphatically.

"_That_! Always _that_!"

And she laughed aloud, feeling lighter than she had since before That Last Morning.

Even leaning forward and kissing him, once, twice, a third time.

Feeling his hand on her side, pulling her toward him, a brief admonition of his desire for her.

And then they somewhat mutually broke contact and separated again.

"No, I mean, what do we do? Is it weird that we can be like this here with everything going on out there?"

John nodded, the weight of being the Leader of the Human Resistance against the machines settling down upon his shoulders once more.

"Yeah. I know. I mean, I don't know, you know?"

"Yeah."

"But I think it's a sign of our humanity. That we can still feel."

"Yeah."

And they continued to lay there, gazing at each other.

Until their eyelids drooped.

And they fell asleep.

* * *

She woke up, unsure of really where she was or what was going on for the moment.

She knew she laying on her side.

And naked.

Under a thin sheet.

In a dim space.

And there was a man beside her.

_Scott?_

And then her vision cleared.

And she saw him.

_The hell?_

And it all came crashing back down on her.

_Oh._

The vet office, John, the terminators, her father, nuclear war.

And here.

Crystal Peak.

The last two months.

And John.

She looked at him.

Asleep on his back, arms loose, fingers open.

Face relaxed more than she had ever seen it.

Breathing deep and even.

As if he had no cares in the entire world.

World.

And then she heard it again.

The thing that had awoken her.

"Hello? _Hello?_"

Voices in the dark.

Alone and afraid.

"Is anybody there?"

And crackling static.

John, for the first time in the months they had been doing this, didn't move.

"Hello? Does anybody copy?"

But she did.

Katherine Brewster rose up from the mattress.

Toga-ing her sheet around her as she stumbled to the mic.

Smooth metal cold to her hand as she pressed the lever.

"This is Kate Brewster, Crystal Peak."

For lack of a better idea, copying what John had said so many times before.

There was a pause, even through the static sounding hesitant.

"This is Jake Meyers. Kate Brewster?"

A jolt shot through her system, interrupting her heartbeat, making it skip and stutter erratically.

_My name._

_I'm actually a part of this now._

_Like, actively._

She had been before, fated to be John Conner's wife if the terminator were to be believed.

A less insane consideration given the last two months.

The last four hours.

_Wow. I really slept four-_

"Where's John Conner? Did something happen to him? Is he dead?"

Panic edging the voice.

Yes, John was their beacon of hope.

Without him, all was lost. He was the only one that really knew anything-

"No. He's not dead. He's okay."

She took a quick breath.

"I'm his second-in-command. Tell me your location."

* * *

The whole interaction took less than five minutes, based on the red-lighted clock next to the microphone.

She took notes on the paper there as well, asked as little questions as she could.

And answered as much as she could intelligently.

Which wasn't much at all.

"Alright, thank you, Brewster. Over and out."

But when it was all over . . .

_I'm going to get better though . . ._

. . . she had stood and delivered as best she could.

_. . . I have to._

While standing in a makeshift toga.

She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to process all over again the shift her life had just taken.

Turned.

And saw him.

John.

Still laying on the floor mattress.

Eyes open now, a little less hooded and hollowed.

Trained again upon her.

She felt instant embarrassment.

He was so much better at this than she was.

"How long have you been listening?"

He shrugged.

"You were talking about the skirmish in Kentucky."

_Oh. Not long then._

"I didn't do very well," she admitted.

And felt a wash of resentment and annoyance surge over her.

_You could have helped me, Mister Leader of the Resistance. It's your job, you know._

He shook his head a little.

"No, you did good."

And then she realized.

_He was assessing me. Son of a bitch._

What she said was:

"No. But I'm going to get better."

And he nodded in agreement.

"We both will."

Then the corner of his mouth turned up.

"But you might want to put some clothes on before we go fight the machines though."

Her sheet was slipping.

She blushed.

"Shut up."

And lay back down next to him.

Instinctively cradling up to his shoulder.

Feeling his arm wrapped around her side.

It didn't feel normal, real, not yet.

But it was still . . .

"I'm telling the truth. You really did good."

She smiled a little, feeling his shoulder against her cheek.

"I'm not glad any of this happened. But I'm glad you're here, John."

His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.

"Yeah. Me too."

And they weren't happily ever after.

Not by a long shot.

It would get bad, she knew. So bad they might wish they had not lived.

But she decided that that was ahead of them and she should just be here.

Now.

* * *

"What makes her so goddamn _important_?!"

Katherine Brewster.

Some random person he just happened to run into.

Fucking deer. Fucking bike wreck.

No, fucking _fate_.

Kate Brewster.

John Connor's spouse and second-in-command.

_You've got to be shitting me._

But now . . .

"I'm glad you're here, John."

_Alright, Fate, you win. I believe._

Yes, he loved her.

But it was so much more than that.

People "loved" pizza rolls.

Or had.

He had once upon a time "loved" arcade games.

A million years ago.

And he really "loved" not getting the crap beaten out of him by terminators.

Undoubtedly be more of that in the sometime near future.

Which would suck.

But for now what he simply felt was so much bigger, so much _more_ than he could have expressed with mere words.

Instead, he just took a moment before the world crashed back down on him.

And kept his arm around her, feeling her warmth, their warmth together.

Their beating hearts.

Their _humanity_.

"Yeah. Me too."

In the new world of the Machine.

* * *

**The end.**

**I really loved Nick Stahl's portrayal of John Conner in what I will willingly admit was in some other ways a mediocre movie. **

**And I'm sure there's more to the story to be told.**

**But it feels like another story for another time.**

**Thank you so much to shadows59 for picking up this story with me. I've appreciate you so much! :D**

**And thank you to the silent readers of this story!**

**Best to you in whatever future you have! ;)**


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